“His friends will always be welcome.”
“Do you have any more information on the captain?”
“Very little. He’s still locked in the dungeon, but I’ve found a way to get word to him.”
“How?” the Malay asked anxiously.
“One of the rajah’s jailers is a relative of mine.”
“And he’s willing to risk helping me?”
“He’s too smart to get caught. For a few rupees, he’ll do whatever you ask of him.”
“Give me a piece of paper, I’ll write him a note immediately.”
“Later, come we’ll have lunch.”
Chapter 25
The Tiger’s Retreat
ALTHOUGH THE SHOCK of that news had been severe, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik had quickly regained their composure. They were too well accustomed to the turns of battle to be crushed by this terrible calamity.
After informing Surama of what had happened, and reassuring her that all would be well, they gathered their men outside the pagoda to discuss what they would do.
Everyone was in agreement. They had to rescue Yanez as soon as possible; they could not risk an attack on the palace if he were still the rajah’s prisoner.
Unfortunately, they had even more pressing matters at hand. Bindar, after having announced the Portuguese’s capture, had also relayed the news that their hideout had been discovered and that the rajah’s troops were preparing to surround the jungle. They had to flee before it was too late.
The counsel drawn to a close, Sandokan dispatched ten men into the jungle to keep watch for anything suspicious, then entered the pagoda where he found Bindar eating.
“Did you see the rajah’s troops advancing towards the jungle?”
“I watched three large pulwars loaded with Sikhs and Assamese soldiers drop anchor in the lagoon and two baglas filled with soldiers sail up the river. I’d wager they tend to go ashore east of here and advance towards your camp from that direction.”
“How many men do you think were aboard the five ships?”
“At least two hundred,” said the Indian.
“Did you see any artillery?”
“Each pulwar was armed with a cannon; each bagla with a swivel gun.”
“Are you certain they’re coming for us? Could it be an expedition to punish some rebel tribes?”
“There are no people in this area, sahib, not for a large stretch. There’s nothing but jungle and swamps for dozens of miles, and there’s only one village, Aurang, and it’s too small to rebel against the rajah’s authority. Those soldiers have come for us.”
“Where is the village?”
“To the east of the jungle.”
“Could we find elephants there?” asked Sandokan.
“The headman has a half dozen of them.”
“Do you think he’d sell them to us?”
“Of course, sahib.”
“How far is the village from here?”
“About fifteen miles or so.”
“What do you intend to do with those beasts?” asked Tremal-Naik, who had been listening to the conversation along with Surama and Kammamuri.
“Another one of my mad ideas,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “I’ll need at least four elephants for it to work.” Then turning to Bindar he added, “Did you get the rupees?”
“Yes, sahib.”
“Do you think that the rajah’s men have already established a cordon to the east of us?”
“Unlikely. The jungle is far too vast and even if they had already come ashore, I’m certain I could sneak past them without being seen.”
“Our fate is in your hands, my friend,” Sandokan said gravely. “You’re to leave at once. Give us directions to the village and go purchase the elephants. We’ll meet you there. This evening we’ll break camp and make our way across the jungle. Did you make contact with Kechik?”
“Yes, he’s safe and staying in a little red house in Kochpara, a village not far from the capital. Captain Yanez’ khansama is looking after him.”
“Perfect.”
“Sandokan,” said Surama, her eyes damp with tears, “Do you really think you’ll be able to free him?”
“They’d need more than a battalion to stop me. I’ll free my brother and avenge my men, you have my word.”
“How do the elephants fit into this plan?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“We’re going to visit the mountains where Surama was born. We need reinforcements; the Sikhs will swell our ranks once I give the jemadar the word, but we’ll need more men to take the throne. If we can summon five or six hundred hillmen to our cause, we’ll storm the city and soon all of Assam will fill with cries of ‘Long live the Rani!’ Come, we must begin preparations.”
“What about the prisoners?”
“We’ll take them with us.”
The ten men sent out to explore the jungle returned to the pagoda two hours before sunset. The news they bore was hardly reassuring. A large band of men had come ashore at the lagoon and set up camp on the outskirts of the jungle.
“Bindar was right,” said Sandokan. “They intend to attack us. Bah, all they’ll find is an empty pagoda.”
The Malays and Dyaks gathered what remained of their supplies and set off in two columns, Surama and the prisoners marching between them. Tremal-Naik and the Tiger of Malaysia led the way, followed by six of their best marksmen, while Kammamuri, Sambigliong and four other select men brought up the rear.
Night fell quickly and silence soon descended over jungle, broken only at times by the distant cries of wild dogs.
The vegetation was thick beyond the pagoda and hampered their advance, the men forced to hack away at the large bamboo groves that often barred their path. Even the clearings were not free of peril for they teemed with kush, the sharp sword grass that could pierce flesh.
They marched far slower than Sandokan would have liked, the pirate fearing that the soldiers encamped by the lagoon would attack the pagoda at any moment. But though they tried to increase their pace, an hour after they had set off they had barely gone two miles.
“I hope the jungle starts to thin soon,” Sandokan said to Tremal-Naik. “We have to reach the village before sunrise.”
They continued on, slowly forging a path forward. From time to time a nilgai or axis, awakened by the sound of scimitars slashing through bamboo, leapt out of the bushes and fled into the night. Once a panther growled at them and looked as if it would attack, but the gleam of all those blades quickly convinced it to retreat.
They had gone another three miles and had just spied a few trees off in the distance when they heard a shot resound through the bamboo.
“That came from east of us,” said Sandokan.
“Yes,” replied Tremal-Naik, who had been listening closely.
“The rajah’s men have reached the edge of the jungle.”
A second shot, slightly louder, thundered from the west.
“They’re signalling to each other,” Sandokan said with a frown. “The soldiers that landed by the lagoon are closer than I expected.”
“We still have a three or four mile lead,” said Kammamuri.
“They’ll easily bridge that distance once they find our path,” said Sandokan. “We’ve got to move more quickly!”
Another four men were summoned to the front and began to hack away at the vegetation while two Dyaks beat the ground for snakes.
Indian jungles abound with poisonous serpents whose venom is often fatal; there’s the banded krait, a large snake with prominent black and yellow bands on its body; the saw-scaled viper, a rough scaled snake with large eyes; Indian cobras, short snouted snakes with large impressive hoods; blue kraits, blue-black snakes with white crossbars; rudiramandali,[24] slender vipers with yellow-brown scales and brown spots; and enormous pythons large enough to grind a tiger or wild buffalo within their coils.
At midnight Sandokan granted everyone a short rest and sent Kammamuri and two Dyaks to scout the path behind them.
The three men returned thirty minutes later, but had nothing to report. The soldiers from the lagoon must still have been far off.
A gunshot suddenly thundered to the east of them, followed almost immediately by a second to the west.
“They’re closing in on us,” said Sandokan.
“What do we do?” replied Tremal-Naik.
“Change course. We’ll head north.”
“What about the village?”
“We’ll find it later. We can’t let them trap us in a crossfire.”
“We’ll head north then,” concluded the Bengali.
They broke camp quickly and headed into the vegetation, marching in two columns, a half dozen men opening the path before them.
The idea proved to be a fortunate one, for after they had gone five or six hundred metres the jungle began to thin. Clearings appeared more regularly, the ground covered with simple grass that did not require being cut. The small band advanced quickly, rapidly making up for lost time.
At two in the morning Sandokan ordered them to halt for another rest. They had come upon an enormous banyan tree that, like the famed Kabira bar of Gujarat, comprised an entire forest on its own. As the small band settled in among the maze of trunks, the pirate cautioned them to keep the strictest silence, then, went off with Tremal-Naik and two men to scout their surroundings
“We’ll go back the way we came,” he said to the Bengali. “I want to know if they’ve found our tracks or are still heading towards each other. I’d rather they didn’t follow us all the way to the village.”
The four men quickly retraced their steps, running at full speed, at times over ground strewn with bamboo reeds and kush grass, and twenty minutes later reached the edge of the spot where they had first veered north.
A profound silence reigned over the jungle; even the jackals and bighanas appeared to have lost their voice. Sandokan was about to head down the path for a quick look, when Tremal-Naik put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him towards a grove of wild banana trees.
Less than two minutes later they heard the bamboo rustle and four shikari armed with rifles stepped into the little clearing that opened among the giant reeds and banana trees.
They stopped and carefully examined the ground.
“They changed direction,” said one.
“It looks like they’re heading north,” replied another.
“One of us has to go back and tell the Sikhs, they need to know of this immediately.”
“I’ll go,” said the first man that had spoken. “The three of you see if you can pick up their trail.”
While the shikari set off back down the path, the remaining three resumed their march, their eyes scanning the ground in search of the fugitives’ tracks. Sandokan and Tremal-Naik waited until they were out of sight then stepped out from the banana grove.
“Should we dispose of them?” asked Tremal-Naik. “We could ambush them up ahead.”
“Too risky. A rifle blast would give us away. We’ll get rid of them later. Back to camp, my friends!”
Led by Tremal-Naik, who was the most skilled at navigating through the jungle, having spent a good part of his youth in the Sundarbans, the four men ran towards the west to avoid encountering the shikari, then veered north and headed back towards the camp.
“We must leave at once,” said Sandokan as they reached the banyan tree.
“They’ve found our tracks?” asked Surama.
“Yes,” replied Sandokan. “There’s no need to worry though. We won’t let them encircle us, even if we have to smash through their lines.”
The pirates quickly formed two columns, put the prisoners in the middle and set off at a run. Fearing the shikari could attack at any moment and that the sound of gunfire would reveal their location, Sandokan doubled the rear guard and instructed his men to only use their scimitars.
The jungle continued to thin, dense tangles of thickets giving way from time to time to groves of tara palms. They advanced as fast they could; all knew their speed was their only salvation and that capture would put an end to their plans forever, the rajah unlikely to spare them.
At three in the morning Kammamuri, who had been at the rear protecting their advance, ran up to Sandokan.
“Sir,” he said, panting, “the shikari have caught up to us.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Six or seven.”
“They’ve doubled in number!”
“It appears so, Tiger of Malaysia. What should I do?”
“Kill them.”
“What if they fire at us?”
“Try to take them before they can draw their weapons.”
Kammamuri ran off at full speed, while the two columns resumed their run through the trees. Ten minutes later, chilling cries and the clash of weapons broke the silence that reigned over the jungle. That struggle lasted but an instant, then a carbine thundered through the air and all fell silent once again.
“Damn!” said Sandokan, halting. “We didn’t need that shot.”
“Nor those,” added Tremal-Naik.
A loud volley of carbine fire followed that single blast. The Sikhs and Assamese had immediately replied.
“They’re still far off!” exclaimed Sandokan, reassured.
“At least a mile,” said Tremal-Naik.
“We’ll wait for Kammamuri.”
They did not have to wait long. The Maratha soon came running towards him at the head of the rearguard.
“Did you kill them?” asked Sandokan.
“Every one of them, master,” said Kammamuri. “Unfortunately, one of the shikari managed to fire his rifle.”
“Did they kill any of our men?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“No, I managed to deflect the barrel of his gun as he fired.”
“Well done,” said Sandokan. “Onward then. I reckon the soldiers are still a few miles behind us, let’s see if we can increase our lead.”
“There’s a field of kush just beyond this thicket, Captain,” said Sambigliong, “it should help us make good time.”
“Excellent; if it’s large enough we may be able to use it to turn the tide in our favour.”
“How?” asked Tremal-Naik.
Instead of replying Sandokan wet the tip of his finger and held it up to check the direction of the wind.
“The breeze is blowing from the north,” he said. “So far Fate appears to be with us. Come, my friends, let’s get a closer look.”
Chapter 26
Trapped
WHAT WAS THE Tiger of Malaysia planning? He alone knew, and if such a man had uttered those words, it meant he was certain of succeeding.
Sambigliong’s sharp eyes had not betrayed him; as the small band emerged from the thicket, they stepped into a vast field of kush, the tall grass reaching to just above their waists. It was quite dry and almost brittle, but still sword sharp.
The vanguard immediately began to hack open a path, Sandokan anxious to reach the dark mass at the far end of the field, likely a forest or a large bamboo grove, from where he intended to fend off an attack.
Dawn was not far off; the stars had begun to pale as the heavens were slowly brightening, and there still appeared to be no end to the jungle. Fearing the Sikhs could appear at any moment, the small band quickened their pace and reached the edge of the small forest just as the sun was rising on the horizon. It would serve them well; the leaves would shade them from the morning heat, the trunks were thick enough to provide shelter, and there were plenty of banana and jack trees heavy with fruit. Sandokan ordered they all rest, then summoned Kammamuri.
“How many bottles of gin do we have left?”
“About a dozen.”
“Have them brought to me then collect as much dry wood as you can find. Hurry!”
“Yes, Captain.”
The Maratha summoned several men and headed off among the trees. As they went off, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik walked back towards the edge of the kush and studied the field they had jus
t crossed, all the while keeping an eye out for their enemies.
A whistle from Kammamuri informed Sandokan that the small band had returned. There still being no sign of the rajah’s men, the pirate and the hunter stepped back in among the trees and found thirty bundles of dry wood arranged in a semi-circle in front of their camp.
“The battle is about to begin,” Sandokan said to his Malays and Dyaks who had been waiting for him with carbines in hand. “Fire only if you’re certain of your shot, we can’t afford to waste ammunition. You six will go to the far side of the forest and watch our backs. The second battalion may attack from there. No one make a sound; we’ll wait for those dogs to come to us.”
The men stretched out at the edge of the forest, rifles by their side. The sun was now high in the heavens and they had a clear view of the field before them.
Suddenly a cry escaped their lips.
“There they are!”
A few men with large turbans had emerged from the trees at the far end of the field and others were quickly following. It was the rajah’s Sikhs, advancing in two columns, ready to attack.
Sandokan crawled to the bottles of gin, smashed them open one by one and doused the bundles of wood with alcohol. He lit a branch and set fire to them all; flames shot up at once and spread instantly to the grass.
The kush burned like kindling soaked in kerosene, a curtain of fire instantly spreading before the forest.
“Tigers of Mompracem!” cried the formidable man, casting away the branch and grabbing his rifle. “Fire!”
The Sikhs had run through the field and were now only four hundred metres from them. A loud volley brought them to an abrupt halt, and knocked several to the ground. Surprised by that unexpected attack, they quickly fanned out and began to fire blindly through the smoke and rising flames. Their shots, however, all went astray for the pirates had immediately flattened themselves against the ground.
A couple of volleys thundered back and forth, then the Sikhs were forced to turn and flee as the flames rapidly raced towards them.
Fed by the mounting wind, the fire devoured all in its path and threatened to engulf the entire jungle. Showered with ash and sparks the Sikhs sped on, never once looking back, the kush burning to dust behind them.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 27
